Double Deal
by slitheringSlytherin
Summary: Pansy Parkinson is dead set on being on the right side in this War. But which one is the right side? Why, of course, the winning one. Can Pansy walk the thin line between the Order and the Death Eaters? Just how two-faced is this Slytherin, really?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is not exactly an AU fic, but it does not follow canon either. There were some parts of DH that are incorporated in this story, but for the most part, the plot is my own. This fic will revolve around Pansy, as she is the main character, but the focus won't be on her alone.

**Summary:** When the Weasleys find Pansy Parkinson injured and almost dead, they do the only honorable thing they can, take her in. But who expected her to stay? Pansy ends up living with the Weasleys and the Order, showing them, rather than telling, exactly why Voldemort tortured her and turned her out. Pansy's quirky sense of humor clashed with Voldemort's... well, non-existant sense of humor, and the latter made sure that Pansy regretted all her derisive thoughts. Who would think that Pansy can match the Weasley twin's pranks? Like that one time when the twins ran away screaming after trying to sneak into the bathroom when Pansy was taking a shower? But Pansy is not just all fun and games. There is a darker side to her, and somehow, she knows more than she should. For one, how did she know that Rowena Ravenclaw's veil went missing in '82?

**Ship**: There is a lot of different ships in this story. Does not revolve around any particular one. Expect Ron/Hermione, Fleur/Bill and Tonks/Lupin to stay canon. As for the rest... well...

**Disclaimer**: Belongs to JKR... durr...

* * *

"...but why did you have to bring her here?" someone asked, obviously trying to keep her voice down. It was a her, or at least, she did sound feminine enough to be a her. Might have been a small man with a high voice, but it was more likely that the speaker was a woman.

"Where else?" another voice, whose owner did not seem to be bothered by the possibility of waking her up, questioned indignantly. It was a much deeper voice than the first one.

"Oh, I don't know," the first voice responded, exasperated. "But not here."

The owner of the second voice scoffed.

"Well, it's dangerous!" the first voice returned with full force to defend her cause. "What if she is a spy for You-Know-Who? Or if she has a portkey or something on her?"

"She is a teenage girl, for Merlin's sake," another voice, one she has not heard before, jumped in. It sounded somewhat male, but she was not too sure. "What harm can she do?"

"Malfoy was only a teenage boy, too, and look at what he did!" now, this voice, sounded a lot more familiar. She was sure she had heard it before. And the name, Malfoy, that, too, rang a bell. Malfoy...Draco Malfoy... Draco... a spinning image of a frightened blond boy groveling at the feet of a much taller, much larger man leaped from her memory. She drew in a sharp breath, and attempted to open her eyes. She accomplished as much as fluttering her eyelashes before she was overcome with fatigue.

Immediately, the room around her quieted down. She felt, more than she saw that everyone turned to her. They waited for a about a minute before proceeding in their conversation.

"I am just saying that _our home_ is probably not the best place, Bill," the female continued to argue. "What about the Order Headquarters? Why didn't you take her there?"

"Wow, Ginny, that's a thinker," the one named Bill responded sarcastically. "Maybe because then the whole Order would be at risk?"

"So it's better us than the Order?" there was a dangerous edge in her voice.

"Merlin's beard, that's not what I am saying..."

"She might be dangerous. Do you want to slaughter your whole family, Bill? Just so your stupid Order may live?" the one named Ginny continued angrily.

"Ginny, that's quite enough!" Another female voice came in with authority and force. "Bill did the best he could in a bad situation. She is obviously hurt, and if you don't hand me those bandages over there, you might find yourself hurt too, young lady."

That seemed to make Ginny back off.

"But Mum," one of the voices, she was losing track of which was which, relentlessly argued. "Ginny is right. What if she is going to kill us all?"

"Ronald Weasley," he was quickly reprimanded. "I don't want to hear this from you. Just look at her. Does she look like she could hurt anyone? Even if she wanted to?"

Weasley? Either they were right and she was very, very hurt with no recollection of how she got to be at the Weasley residence or the voices in her head were the Weasleys. She was not quite sure which would be worse.

The voices were silent.

"Exactly," the motherly, authoritative voice reasserted itself. "Now, clear out. Ginny, stay and help me bandage her up, the rest of you shoo."

She heard some grumbling and groaning, creaking of the chairs or the door and then it was quiet again. Too quiet. Another memory resurfaced. Fog and more fog, footsteps of a cloaked figure and then... and then...

* * *

The second time she awoke, she was alone. This time, she was able to force her eyelids open a little bit. Not that it did her lot of good. It was dark in the room; it had to be night outside. How long since it happened? She was taken during the day and then the nights, those horrible nights in that room. And then _the_ night. Too long to remember. Besides, she did not want to remember.

Instead she tried to wiggle around a bit to see how badly she was hurt. Remembering would simply take up that energy, and she was weak. Very weak. She could remember things later; just do one thing at a time for now. Okay, she succeeded in moving her hands. In her head, she did a victorious dance. Pansy: 1 Wounds: 0. She grinned. And almost yelped in pain. There was a deep, still sort of bleeding gash on her cheek as she found out when she touched her face with her (functional!) hand. Fine. Pansy: 1 Wounds: 1. Next she tried to sit up. Her rib cage felt like it was about penetrate her skin, jump out and start tap dancing. She coughed. Even breathing hurt. Pansy: 1 Wounds: 2. Whatever. She almost wished she would faint again. Sleep is the best healer, right? Pansy gave up on trying to sit up or move; she was satisfied with twinkling her toes. Then the pain overtook her and she fainted again. Her Wounds won.

"Are you mad? Why is she here?" a loud, angry voice brought her back to the painful world.

This time, Pansy succeeded in opening her eyes fully just to see the hot and angry face of Harry Potter pointing at her and yelling in the milky moonlight. She groaned. The loudness did not make her head hurt any less.

"Harry! Keep your voice down! You woke her up!" another voice reprimanded the first one in a harsh whisper. Pansy's eyes looked the owner of that one in darkness and discovered a Weasley, or so she thought as she recognized the voice from earlier. It was the one who was angry about her being here earlier; Ginny, was it? Funny how the tables have flipped. Sorta flipped. Not completely. No. She would not get into linguistic arguments with herself right now. Pansy groaned again.

"I don't care!" Harry Potter continued to yell, ignoring her. "She is probably Voldemort's spy. She will lead him here or something..."

"Bill brought her here, Harry," Ginny explained impatiently. "It's not like we invited her. You should know better than that."

"Gin- Well, I know you didn't invite her," Harry seemed to be taken back a little by her frowning face. "But still. She shouldn't be here! What was Bill thinking?"

"What was I supposed to do, Harry?" another voice (goddamn it!) spoke in the darkness. Annoyed, Pansy wondered if the Order had a vendetta against lights or something, for why else would they be standing around in darkness? At least LordsVolds was generous when it came to his usage of candles, torches, floating fires, chandeliers or burning inferni. Apparently, the Order was not the same way.

"Hmm? Leave her out in the cold to die?" the voice of her defender said accusingly.

Cold? Pansy thought it was the middle of June. The nights are not super-hot, but he was not exactly leaving her out in middle of a Himalayan avalanche.

Harry Potter was quiet. Ginny Weasley was quiet. But not for long.

"I told you before, Bill. You shouldn't have brought her here," Ginny seemed eager to take Harry's side in this conflict. Pansy scoffed inwardly. Imagining her own scoffing face reminded her of the gash on her cheek. She raised her hand to touch it softly. Yup. It was still there. Still bleeding. Terrific. The idea of a lifetime spent with a bleeding face came to her mind and she groaned, _again_.

"She is awake?" It was more of an asserted fact than it was a question. Bill was the father of this sound.

"I don't care," Harry said defensively.

"I don't know," Ginny commented.

"Oh, to hell with this!" the one named Bill swore. "_Lumos!_"

Oh, wonderful, Pansy thought, there might be a God after all.

With light streaming from Bill's wand, she could finally see where she was. It was a small room, with posters of the Chudley Cannons and dragons everywhere. Well, that was okay. The size of the room, not so much. But she didn't mind the dragons and she did not care enough about Quidditch to recognize the Chudley Cannons. As for the people that were standing in the room, she recognized Harry Holy Potter closest to her bed, then Ginny Weasley with the trademark orange Weasley hair stood in one of the corners, and then, by the door, was the one she assumed was named Bill, a tall, handsome man with long red hair, but a scarred face. From what she gathered so far, he was the one that found her and rescued her. Well, good. She approved of him.

"Hello Pansy," Bill smiled when he saw her face in the light of his wand. "I trust you slept well."

Pansy smiled back. However, her cheek was not all cool and down with that. It sprouted blood, spraying her face and a part of her pillow. Lovely, Pansy thought, just lovely.

"Ievlaptell," she told him. And then coughed. Her throat was too dry to speak, her lungs burned. Not to mention the feel of her ribs which, though a lot better, seemed severely bruised.

"I am sorry, I didn't catch that," Bill told her. "Ginny, why don't you get her some water?"

Ginny made a face at Harry before disappearing, but soon coming back with a glass of water.

"Help her drink it," Bill ordered her. "Some of her ribs were broken, right? She shouldn't move around too much."

Broken? Oh, right. _That._ Turns out that calling Big L.V., "Wonder Volder" is not a good decision. She must remember that for future reference.

"Well? How do you feel?" Bill asked her once she was done with the big glass of water.

Pansy coughed, "Better. A lot better. Thank you."

"Did you even bother her check for the Dark Mark?" Harry inquired, frowning.

"Uh..." Bill turned a bright shade of pink. "I don't think that Fleur would like it if I performed a body search on anyone other than--"

"Dear Merlin, shut up, Bill," Ginny snapped at him. "I don't want to know what you and Fleur get up to in your free time. And no, Harry, we didn't think of that."

"Perfect. Just perfect. Do you take all stray Death Eaters in, Bill? You know, maybe Snape is looking for a new master now too, you could go and keep a look out for him."

"Harry..." Bill growled warningly.

"I helped Mum heal her after he brought her in," Ginny quickly cut in. "I didn't see a Dark Mark."

"We can check, can't we?" Harry was next to her in a mere fraction of a second, lifting up her left arm and checking it for a DM.

Pansy smiled languidly at him.

"You could have just asked, you know," she purred. "But I understand if you wanted to do a full body search on me, Potter..."

Now it was Harry's turn to play a Las Vegas neon sign. He turned scarlet and then pink and then he ended in a white, throwing a frightened look at Ginny. Her face forecasted snowstorms with the possibility of lightening.

Also, Harry dropped Pansy's arm as if it was a snake.

"Satisfied?" Pansy smirked at him, her cheek sprouting more blood. She could feel it trickle down her neck. Bloody beautiful.

"I am not one for body ink anyway," she told him. "Besides, Morty doesn't have very good taste in tattoos anyway. I figured that if I was to get a tattoo, I would get something better than a skull with a snake. I mean, alone those two are not too bad. But together? Tacky!"

Bill looked like he wanted to burst out laughing. Harry looked scandalized. Ginny just looked angry. Pansy was enjoying it. She admitted she would enjoy it a lot more if she could breathe, but hey, you take what you can get, right?

"May I please get more water?" she broke the silence that ensued.

"Uh, yeah, sure, of course." Ginny scurried out of the room.

"What are you doing here, Parkinson?" Harry had recovered enough to growl questions at her.

"Um," Pansy paused, drinking some of the water which Ginny brought. "Laying in bed? Isn't that obvious or do you need new glasses?"

"Parkinson." Harry growled, giving her a searching look.

"Harry, leave her alone," Bill told him. "She is still half-way dead. You don't want to kill her with your questions just now."

"Wouldn't be so sure," Harry muttered, finally turning away from her. "We need to question her, though, Bill. She might know something about Voldemort."

"Yeah, Voldiekins and I are best friends, H-Potts. We paint each other nails, have pillow fights and all that good stuff. If you need any info on him, just lemme know. I can tell you what his favorite color is, what he likes for breakfast and why Mr. Snuggles is his most trusted advisor. But after I sleep, k? Pretty Pansy is getting tired." She yawned to prove her point, nudging Ginny away.

"I can see why she would need her beauty sleep," Ginny commented dryly, leaving the room. "Come on, let her sleep. She won't be any use to you, Harry."

"But..."

"Harry, not now." Bill told him.

"Do we have any Veritaserum on hand?"

"I don't know," Ginny was heard from the hallway.

"Let's go look for some, hm?" Bill took Harry's arm, practically dragging him out of the room.

"Bye-bye, Pot-pot." Pansy waved. "Bring me balloons next time. I especially like balloon giraffes. Extra brownie points if you make them yourself."

* * *

"How are you feeling, honey?" This time, Pansy woke up to someone redressing her wounds and murmuring to her softly. She remembered Idda, their old House-elf caring for her like that whenever she was sick. It was quiet nice. She sighed and that's when the woman finally turned to her.

"I think I feel better," Pansy told her, smiling. Oh, noes! The wound on her cheek opened. Betcha you didn't see that coming. Pansy certainly didn't. But then she went on a little tirade in her head about how she was supposed to see it coming, since the same damn thing happened last night whenever she moved that cheek. What exactly did Macnair do to her face? Or did she actually want to know?

"Aw, that horrible gash is bleeding again. Do you remember how you got it? I can't find anything that would close it permanently," Mrs. Weasley inquired, waving her wand over Pansy's face to stop the bleeding.

"Um," Pansy paused to think. "I think he used some sort of spell or something. I am not really sure."

"Do you know who did this?"

"I think the cheek was Macnair."

"Oh, good," Mrs. Weasley commented. "I mean, not good. But I was worried that it might have been a werewolf wound, and that would've been much worse."

"Undoubtedly," Pansy agreed quickly. "Voldemort's resident werewolf wasn't around when I was being tortured. At least, I don't think."

"Oh..."

"So, where am I?"

"You are with the Weasleys, dear," Mrs. Weasley explained. "My son, Bill, found you on his way from work near one of the apparation points."

"Thank you for fixing me up," Pansy thanked her. "I wouldn't want to be a bother to you. I should probably leave soon."

"Nonsense, dear," Mrs. Weasley disagreed quickly. "You can stay with us as long as you would like. Your uh, connections won't prevent us from helping you."

"That is very noble, Mrs." there she paused, "Weasley?"

"Yes, I am a Weasley," the matriarch told her with an undertone of pride.

"But I cannot accept your offer," Pansy told her, struggling to get up. "I think that I am well enough to travel. Death Eaters won't be looking for me now."

"I doubt that," a tall man was standing in the doorway. He looked a lot like Bill, except for the balding head and he also seemed thinner. "If I know the Dark Lord's followers at all, I am sure that they will follow you. If you escaped from their clutches once, they will look for you again."

"My family can protect me, really," Pansy tried to reason with him.

"You are a Parkinson, right?"

She nodded.

"Well, if I am correct, your father has fled the country," Mr. Weasley told her. Pansy did another victory dance in her head upon hearing that Papa got away. She thought he did, but she wasn't sure. Only if Daffy and herself had been that lucky. But it's too late to weep over milk gone sour. She had more important things to worry over now.

"I have other relatives," Pansy tried again.

"Most of which are closely affiliated with the Death Eaters," Mr. Weasley retorded. "Moreover, I don't believe that it would be wise for us to let you go once you've seen one of our provisional headquarters."

"So I am a prisoner?"

"Not exactly," Mrs. Weasley butted in. "We just think that it's better for our and your own safety to stay with us."

"But I can leave, right?" Pansy asked.

"The decision is ultimately yours," Mr. Weasley smiled reassuringly. "We don't force people to join us. Or to stay with us."

"But you don't have to decide now," Mrs. Weasley said hastily. "You still have quite some healing to do. We wouldn't make you go when you can barely move."

"I think I am fine," Pansy told her, stretching and swinging her legs off the bed. "I am feeling a lot better. And look, I can stand." Throwing the covers off, she stood up.

At that, Mr. Weasley, who quite appropriately felt out of place, left the room and closed the door.

"Pansy, you are not wearing a shirt," Mrs. Weasley said, looking away and handing her a shirt.

Pansy looked down. True, the bandages covered all the important stuff, but there was still a big chunk of her stomach and arms that wasn't covered. Wonderful, she thought, I just flashed Mr. Weasley. Well, the Death Eaters would be proud. Maybe. Or jealous. She wasn't really sure. And thinking about it made her feel icky on the inside, so she stopped. Instead, she preoccupied herself with putting on the shirt.

"I feel a lot better now," she told Mrs. Weasley again.

"I am glad to hear that," Mrs. Weasley smiled at her. "Now, let's get some food in you. I wouldn't expect you to heal just from the air, and you are too skinny anyway."

Pansy idly wondered what her definition of "skinny" really was, for she certainly wasn't skinny by her own standards. She wasn't a fattie, but she was as far from being a stick as a dementor was from successfully running a daycare center.

"You can either come down for breakfast, or I can send someone up with a tray," Mrs. Weasley told her.

"I think I will stay up here, " Pansy decided. "I want some time to think things over and such." She explained to her.

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Weasley patted her shoulder. "What do you like for breakfast?"

"Anything works really," Pansy grinned. Man, was she hungry. "I eat everything. That's why I look the way I do." She added, sheepishly.

Mrs. Weasley gave her an odd look.

"Well, then I will send up what I will make for everyone else."

"Sounds fantastic."

* * *

The Weasley kitchen was abuzz with the news of their guest.

"So, I think we better get to the most important issue here," George started when he and Fred apparated to their seats at the table.

"Is she hot?" Fred finished his twin's thought.

"Who?" Ron raised his eyebrows, much preoccupied digging into his waffles.

"Pansy Parkinson, you dweeb," George told him. "Seriously, Roniekins, do try to keep up."

"Ew, of course not. Don't you remember her from school? Pug-face?"

"Well, people change."

"I hear Bill here got a good look," Fred smiled, poking Bill in the side with his fork.

"Bill?" Fleur raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips.

"Ughm," Bill choked on the sip of pumpkin juice he just took. "She is okay. I mean, she does not look like a pug, or anything like that. But I wouldn't call her 'hot.' Anyway, I don't know what gave you the idea that I got a good look. I just levitated her here. So Mum could heal her."

Fleur didn't look convinced.

"I thought you carried her," Ron said, as usual, unaware of the finer subtleties of the conversation.

Fleur looked even less convinced. If there was a conviction scale, Fleur would have reached a new low. A very low, low. Lower than the melting point of most super cooled liquids. Or gases. In fact, if Fleur was a gas, she would be helium which does not freeze even when the temperature gets very close to absolute zero.

"I didn't carry her!" Bill defended himself. "Mum, tell him I levitated her here." He turned to his mother for help.

"Of course you did, honey," she responded absent-mindedly as she continued to make waffles to feed her numerous family.

Fleur said nothing.

"So she looked okay, huh, mate?" George continued on his original track of thought.

"George," Ron said with all seriousness he could muster. "Don't you remember her? The pug-faced Slytherin that always hang around Malfoy?"

"Malfoy's girlfriend?" Fred asked.

"Yeah, pretty much," Harry agreed, sitting down.

"I don't remember her being bad on the eyes," George sounded as if deep in thought as he tried to recall a clearer vision of Pansy.

"Yes, if you are attracted to pugs," Harry said dryly.

"Maybe she had a snotty nose, I honestly don't remember, but the body wasn't bad," Fred came to support his twin.

"And that's all that matters!"

"Boys!" Mrs. Weasley who happened to catch the last bit of the conversation smacked George over the head with her cooking mitten. "I will not have you talk like this about our guest at the table!"

"So we can talk like that about our guest if we are on the sofa?" the twins apparated there. "Or in the bathroom?" They heard from the bathroom. "Or out in the yard?"

"No breakfast for you," Mrs. Weasley declared firmly.

"We are good," George said as the two apparated back into their seats.

"And not a word from us."

"We are like mice."

"Quiet mice."

"Quite the quiet mice."

"Quite the quiet mice of Quietown."

"Quit."

"Quitting quite the quiet mice of Quietown. Over and out." The food served in front of them turned out to be enough of a distraction for the said "mice."

"I really didn't touch her," Bill told Fleur who was still scowling. "Well, I might have carried her in parts, but I never even--"

"Oh, cut it, Bill," Fleur waved her hand dismissively. "I don't want to 'ear it."

"Alright," Mrs. Weasley turned to the table, putting down one last plate full of waffles on the table and levitating a tray for Pansy with her wand. "I need someone to carry this tray up stairs."

Ron and Harry exchanged looks. The twins exchanged grins. Bill and Fleur exchanged nothing.

"I can take it up, Mrs. Weasley," Fleur offered, her eyes daring Bill, or anyone else, to try and stop her.

"Oh, would you?" Mrs. Weasley smiled at her daughter-in-law-to-be gratefully and handed her the tray. "Thank you, Fleur. She is in Charlie's old room."

"No problem, Mrs. Weasley," Fleur forced a smile and took the tray.

"Wonder how long she is gonna leech off us," Ron commented, watching Fleur disappear up the stairs. "Probably dried Malfoy's account and that's why she is here."

"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "She was tortured! How can you accuse her of leeching off on us?"

"Might have been faked" Ron muttered, still too intimidated by his mother to face her head-on. "You never know with them, Death Eaters."

"Her injuries weren't faked, Ronald," Ginny agreed matter-of-factly. "As much as I don't like her, she is not lying about that."

"Whatever. I still say it's a bad decision to keep her here," Ron said. "When is she gonna leave, anyway? Charlie will want his room back when he comes for the wedding. And we will be hosting enough people as it is."

"Pansy is welcome to stay as long as she wants," Mr. Weasley joined them in the kitchen.

"What?" Ginny gaped at him.

"She is injured and chased by the Death Eaters. She can stay with us as long as she wants or needs," Mr. Weasley repeated. "I wouldn't give up anyone to the Death Eaters, and I would be very surprised if you did." He gave Ginny and Ron quite a stern look before sitting down.

"But Dad! We can't keep her!" Ron exclaimed, much less afraid of his father than his mother.

"Ron, don't refer to her as if she was a stray kneazle." His father scowled at him.

"She is a Death Eater! We can't keep the likes of her here. This is where the Order lives. Harry, help me." He shot Harry a look asking him for help.

"You don't know that she is a Death Eater, Ronald," Mrs. Weasley, instead of Harry, joined the conversation.

"But Mum! She is a Parkinson."

"I won't have you jumping to conclusions, Ronald Weasley. If she wants to stay with us here, she may. We are not going to turn her out to the Death Eaters so they may do Merlin knows what to her. She is lucky that she got away this time."

"She probably deserved all she got," Ron said nastily.

"Ronald!"

"I'm just saying that--"

"I won't hear another word, Ron, about this." Mr. Weasley told him firmly. "Pansy is going to stay with us if she wants. You are going to treat her as a friend. And that's that."

Ron gave him a dark look before going off to sulk upstairs.

"You know, Harry, she can't be all that bad," Mrs. Weasley told him, watching the retreating back of her youngest son.

"Trust me, Mrs. Weasley, Ron is right about her," Harry told her. "We don't know why she is here. For all we know, her wounds could be just decoy."

"She wouldn't serve someone who hurt her this bad!" Mrs. Weasley jumped to Pansy's defense.

"Voldemort is not exactly known for providing his employees with insurance or good retirement benefits..."

"Oh, Harry, how I wish you would stop saying his name."

"I better go check on Ron," Harry thus excused himself from the table and went upstairs.

* * *

Fine. So this was a vast improvement to what her living situation used to be. It seemed that in this house, getting randomly assaulted by a stranger would not go unnoticed. Neither there would be the possibility of Big L torturing her for his amusement. Nor there would be any run-ins with Bellatrix Lestrange, who was decidedly bisexual. It was decided so by Pansy that one time when Bella hit on her. It was most discomforting. Bella did not seem exactly like the type that would back of easily. So yes, this was an improvement. How permanent of an improvement, she was not sure.

After the door closed behind Mrs. Weasley, Pansy hopped off her bed to scrutinize her surroundings. There was not too much space to survey, as the room was not exactly roomy, another big difference to her previous living conditions. She was fairly sure that her least favorite House-Elf had a room bigger than this. She shrugged. It didn't matter. She liked comfort and pretty things, but she liked being alive a lot more than she liked those two put together. And alive she would remain, regardless of the cost.

Outside of the house matched in the inside. The lawn looked as if it and a lawn mower spells were mortal enemies. It was full of dwarfs running around and chasing the chickens. Hell, there was even one dwarf that was inventive enough to put some sort of a string around one of the chicken's necks and ride it around like a horse. Pansy amused herself by watching him until she heard a knock on her door.

"Enter!" she called, briefly wondering which one of the orange haired monsters would come to torture her this time. She hoped it was Bill, she took a liking to him. She didn't know the rest of them yet, and he was the only nice one. Well, except for the adults, but hey, they had to be. They were adults, right?

"I brought your breakfast," the girl announced and entered.

"You are not a Weasley," Pansy blurted out, taking in her appearance. No, certainly, the young witch that brought her breakfast up was not a Weasley. The hair color was totally off. So were the facial features, which were familiar for some reason.

"No, not yet," the witch agreed, studying her with displeasure.

"Not yet?" Pansy questioned, quirking an eyebrow. "Are you aspiring to be one or something?"

"Why, yes," Fleur said, raising her eyebrows at Pansy's tone. "I am Fleur Delacour, the fiancé of William Weazley."

"William?" Pansy muttered. "I don't remember that one. Wait, you mean Bill?"

"Yes, that iz what his _family_ and _friendz_ call 'im," Fleur told her, and the emphasis did not slip by Pansy.

"Ah, congratulations are then in order, I believe," Pansy smiled, extending her hand, despite being conscious of the dislike the other witch emitted. "I am Pansy Parkinson, by the way."

"Thank you," Fleur smiled politely, gratefulness not quite reaching her eyes.

"So when are you and Bill getting married, if you don't mind me asking?" Pansy inquired, still attempting to carry on the conversation in a friendly manner. She would not mind becoming friends with Bill's fiance, since he seemed so nice already. Besides, she sort of doubted that she would be all buddy-buddy with Granger or G-Weaz, and it wouldn't hurt to have a female ally on this side of the fence.

"In two weekz, actually," Fleur said. "We are very 'appy together. I cannot imagine what would 'appen eef anyone tried to ztop my wedding. Either way, eet would end very badly for her."

Pansy paused before responding as she processed the implied threat. Did Bill's fiancé really think that she, Pansy Parkinson, was out to get her man? Well, all is fair in love and war, right? And there was love and war, so Pansy figured that insane jealousy would fall under this rule, too. But seriously, she had no intention of wooing Bill, or anyone else at the moment. Bill was alright, she thought, but she would never date a Weasley, let alone marry one. She was careful to not let her incredulity show on her face before she responded to Fleur.

"Of course, but I cannot phantom why anyone would interfere with your wedding," she smiled at the frowning Fleur. "You and Bill seem perfect for each other, at least as far as I can judge from my limited knowledge."

Fleur said nothing, and so Pansy decided to go on.

"I am sure your wedding will be wonderful," she continued smiling, ignoring the bleeding gash on her cheek. The gauze was still there, preventing it from bleeding too much. She wasn't sure how the other witch would react to blood, but she seemed too Barbie-esque for a positive reaction.

"That is unless L-Volds considers making an appearance," Pansy joked in an effort to lighten the atmosphere.

"L-Volds?"

"You know, the infamous, the horrible, the evil, the ballerina Lord Voldemort the first!" Pansy's voice ascended to a high pitch as she pronounced those words.

"Uh," Fleur paused, more confused than bemused. "Why do you call 'im that?"

"Because he doesn't like it?"

"Well, are you not afraid?"

"He already scared my family out of the country and tortured, nearly killed me. What else can he do to me?" Pansy decided not to answer that question herself. She knew very well _exactly_ what else he could do, but that was a problem for another time.

Fleur's expression indicated that she, too, could think of quite a few things that Lord Voldemort could do that would be worth respecting him.

"I would be terrified if he had done all zat to me," Fleur muttered, pointedly looking at Pansy's cheek.

"Ah, that?" Pansy put down her waffle and touched the aforementioned cheek with her finger. "That wasn't Lords Volds. That was Macnair. Despite the popular belief, they are not the same person. Neither are they secret lovers, as I found out from an unpleasant experience when I followed Macnair to the Dark Lord's bedroom. It was quite a disappointment. They just played checkers."

Now, Pansy wasn't making that up. Well, not completely. Once, she and Draco idly pondered the question of Voldemort's sexuality, as he never gave to the advances of Auntie Bella (as Draco affectionately called her), and they had certain doubts about Macnair. The man always seemed to want to prove his masculinity to someone, be it through killing dangerous creatures or dating complete bimbos. Some serious denial? Well, Pansy thought so. And so one night, when the big V called Macnair to his room, she followed him in a few minutes to bring them tea. And the men were playing checkers. She was most perplexed and she had trouble closing her mouth for about a minute after she made her excuses and exited the room, nearly spilling the tea on Voldemort's snake. The snake which was laying in Voldie's bed. That gave raise to a whole new theory, but that's for another time, kids.

"Still, I zink I would be scared," Fleur insisted, a little weirded out by the whole conversation. Not even Harry talked about You-Know-Who that way. True, Harry never had to room with Him or at least, live in the same house as the Dark One, but still. The girl had more gumption than Fleur would have originally thought, and Fleur wasn't sure if she liked it.

Pansy shrugged instead of responding and refocused on her waffles. She had to admit, Mrs. Weasley was not a bad cook. In fact, she was almost better than the Parkinson House-Elves. Almost.

"Thank you for bringing me breakfast," Pansy said when the silence stretched on for too long. "I wasn't feeling too well this morning."

"No problem," Fleur nodded. "I 'eard zat you 'ad some broken ribs, or zomething like zat."

"Yeah, probably," Pansy agreed, tugging on her shirt. "But they fixed me up. Mrs. Weasley, I mean." She corrected herself before Fleur could jump to any conclusions.

"Yes," Fleur said. "Mrs. Weasley iz very... nice."

"She seems alright," Pansy shrugged again. "So is this house your Order Headquarters?"

Fleur frowned:

"I don't zink zat I am supposed to tell you these zings."

"Oh. Sorry that I asked."

"No problem," Fleur muttered.

"I think that I am done. Do they always give you this much food around here?" Pansy asked, pushing the plate away.

"Yes," Fleur answered, picking up the tray.

"Okay. Then tell me how do the Weasley boys remain skinny? If they eat this much at home, and then at Hogwarts, there are no restrictions on how much you eat..."

"I 'onestly don't know. I 'ave pondered that very same question myself every so often."

"And their sister? Ginny? She is not exactly a fatty either..."

"I don't know! I 'ave gained five pounds myzelf since I started living 'ere," Fleur seemed quite displeased with that fact.

"So Mrs. Weasley expects everyone to eat like a starved whale? And then look like one?" Pansy started to worry about her own body.

Fleur just gave her a terrified nod.

"Dear Merlin, it's going to be tough living here," Pansy sighed, and she could not be more right.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! I don't really know how this fic is going to develop. I am open to suggestions though! Next chapter up within three days.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Yeah, I know. The update took longer than I promised. Sorry about that. I wanted to make it good. It's not but, uh, well, it exists anyway.

Disclaimer: Belongs to JKR, of course. Just in case you didn't catch on yet...

* * *

"I don't like 'er very much," Fleur complained loudly after she returned to the kitchen. "She iz very strange."

"Nah, she is just a bitch," Ginny commented coolly, as she washed another dish. The two of them were alone in the kitchen, as the rest of the family was done with breakfast and had gone about their business.

"She wasn't mean," Fleur paused, thinking over what Ginny said. "She was just strange."

"What did she say?"

"She talked a lot about You-Know-Who."

"And?"

"Somezing about ze checkers."

"Checkers?"

"Yes."

"That is odd," Ginny agreed. "Maybe the Death Eaters damaged her brain."

Fleur just shrugged. She thought their guest quirky at the very best, but she did not consider her much of a threat anymore. Bill didn't fancy nutty witches, and besides, she was much too young. Overall, Fleur was pleased with her findings, and the good mood stayed with her as she plowed through the owls she received with regards to the wedding.

"Anything about the dress, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked after she returned inside.

"No, not yet," Fleur responded, slightly worried.

"If you don't receive it in two days, we might want to go out and look for a new dress," Mrs. Weasley suggested. Fleur ordered the dress about a month ago, but it still hadn't come in. Fleur and Mrs. Weasley have had their knickers in a bunch over it for the past two weeks or so.

"Yes," Fleur agreed. "I will send zem an owl right now."

"Mum, I am done," Ginny announced. As far as she was concerned, Fleur could get married naked, and she would not care. Well, it would be a bit awkward to see her sister-in-law-to-be naked, but the embarrassment it would cause her might be just worth it. Ginny was not in a good mood this morning, her thoughts more malicious than usual. She scolded herself for being so mean all the way to Ron's room where Harry was staying.

Naturally, the boys were there, talking the whole Pansy thing over. Neither was pleased with their new guest, and Ginny shared their sentiments.

"Phlegm went up to see her," Ginny told them after a few minutes of listening to them complain. "She called her 'weird'."

"Weird? Dunno, I'd describe her more like 'evil' or maybe, 'plotting'?" Ron's eyebrows rose slightly.

"She said that Parkinson talked about You-Know-Who and checkers quite a bit," Ginny reported.

"What?" Harry heard her, but he was not quite sure if he heard her right.

"Checkers, Harry," Ginny repeated, sighing. "I have no idea what that means."

"Maybe she is bonkers," Ron suggested.

"That's what I said," Ginny agreed. "So what are you gonna do about her?"

"Checkers?" Harry was still stuck on that. "Maybe we should just go and talk to her."

"Mum said we weren't allowed," Ginny told him. "She said for everyone to leave her alone until she heals."

"Well, let's see if she's healed," Harry said resolutely and walked out of the room, not really caring if the other two followed him.

* * *

"Pot-pot! How staggeringly phenomenal that you took the time of your day to come and see me," Pansy grinned at Harry from the safety of her bed. "But there is no need for you to worry. I am recovering spectacularly, as Mrs. Weasley keeps telling me. So see, no need for your concern."

"I wasn't concerned about your health, Parkinson," Harry growled, and Pansy's grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"Aww, I am hurt, Potts," Pansy cooed. "Why else would you come here if you weren't worried about me?"

She paused, and looked up at him with another toothy smile.

"You brought me balloons!"

Harry glared at her.

"Did you make me a giraffe?"

"No balloons, Parkinson," Harry pronounced slowly, as if he was talking to someone exceptionally stupid. In his opinion, he was.

"But why else would you come then? Couldn't resist the pull of my magical personality and my bewitching body?" Those words were accompanied by a rather suggestive gesture when Pansy's hand slipped to the edge of her blanket and slowly pulled the fabric up, exposing her naked thigh.

Harry's eyes involuntarily followed her hand. His face turned a light shade of pink.

"Cover yourself up, Parkinson," Harry cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

"Nice try, Parkinson," Ginny scoffed from behind him. Of course, Ginny and Ron followed Harry to Pansy's room to provide moral support and to tease the Slytherin.

"But Harry doesn't like Slytherin sluts," she continued, her eyes gleaming somewhat dangerously.

Pansy just smirked at her and continued to play with the edge of her blanket. She decided that she certainly deserved a pat on the back for making Potter's girlfriend jealous. But seriously, she had been in the Weasely household for less than twenty four hours, and already, she pretty much alienated every female living there. She was fairly sure that Mrs. Weasley did not hate her yet, because she only flashed Mr. Weasley by an accident. But Ginny and Fleur both felt threatened by her, which Pansy, to an extent, found hilarious. I mean, come on! Pansy Parkinson and Harry Potter? That's just as likely as Severus Snape and well, anyone, really. The man must be asexual or something, or so Pansy thought. As unpleasant as this track of thought was, she decided to return to the conversation with a fitting, yet low:

"He likes them Gryffindor, eh?"

And then, knowing very well how weak of a come back it really was, she continued:

"I don't really understand, though. I would imagine that red clashes horribly with your hair. Thus being the whore of Gryffindor must be very confusing... color-wise..."

"I am sure green works for you," Ginny smiled saccharinely. "Goes well with envy."

"Envy?" Pansy scoffed. "What am I envious of?"

"Aw, Parkinson," Ginny moved closer, something predator like about her. Pansy noted the change in attitude and decided that she did not like it very much. She felt like she was losing the upper hand in this conversation and she did not like that.

"I would imagine that you are more... perceptive than that," Ginny continued. "It clearly was not the fear or hate of You-Know-Who that drove you here."

Pansy gave her a dumbfounded look. Well, Ginny was sort of right. But Ginny could not have known. There was no way she could, right?

"What are you talking about, Weasley?" Pansy spat out. "You think that I almost died just so I can stay at your house and hang out with you people? I never thought you were especially bright, but you are dumb, even for a Weasley."

Too late did Pansy realize that the last insult was a bit of an overkill. Maybe offending the family under whose roof you are staying was a bad idea? Just maybe?

"Oh, stuff it, Parkinson," Harry reprimanded her, holding Ron back from charging at her. "You are evidently here for a reason and I--"

"Yeah, the reason is that Volders likes to torture people. Durr," Pansy told him impatiently. She really wasn't getting through to these people, was she?

"Parkinson," Harry began again. "Look, I am not stupid."

"All evidence to the contrary," Pansy muttered under her breath.

Harry glared at her.

"Voldemort is not going to torture and almost kill a member of a prominent pure blood family just to leave her on the doorsteps of one of the most wanted Order families." Here, he paused, and came closer, pulling out his wand. "I want to know why you are here, Parkinson. And you better tell me the truth."

"Or what, Potty? Are you gonna Crucio me?" Pansy mocked as Harry's eyes gleamed dangerously. "Do you think that you can cause me more pain than He did? Get real, Potter."

"I don't want to hurt you, Parkinson," Harry seemed to be going all out for the good cop-bad cop routine. "But I want the truth."

"I told you the truth," Pansy repeated. "I know that you are no Ravenclaw, Potts, but let's think about this, okay? Voldiekins does not like Draco. He knows that Draco and I are close. He tortures me to hurt Draco. I almost die. He thinks that I am dead and so the Death Eaters deposit me in a random location. With me so far?"

"Parkinson... you are not telling the truth," Harry growled.

"Oh, Pot-pot, you will never learn, will you?"

"Learn what?"

"How to tell a lie from the truth."

"I may not, but some Veritaserum might do the trick. Ginny?" Harry turned to her, and Pansy went rigid. Of course. She should have thought of that. Or someone should have, anyway. They would give her Veritaserum. And if they questioned her under the influence... well, then she would tell the truth. That would be bad. Very, very bad. Luna Lovegood's fashion sense bad. Pansy took a deep breath. She would not show her fear. Maybe there was a way out of this.

"Harry, I didn't find much," Ginny told him, handing him a small bottle. It looked about empty. There was a little bit of the liquid at the bottom, but barely enough to wet her lips.

Pansy, who was not that great at potions, never really bothered to find out much about the influences of Veritaserum. If she did, she would have known that the amount in the bottle was enough to make her talk. However, she did not know that. And so, she kind of panicked a little. In a very effective, organized sort of way.

As Harry reached out to take the Veritaserum from Ginny's hand, Pansy, not too graciously, stood up from the bed.

"What are you doing?" Ron growled from somewhere near the door.

"Going to the bathroom," Pansy responded, staggering forth.

"No, you aren't," Harry reached out for her hand, holding the Veritaserum bottle in the other. "Not until you--"

There he was interrupted by Pansy's body hitting his. In process of moving towards the door, Pansy tripped on something on the floor, and in a well-aimed fall, she fell on Harry. It was effective. Her head came crashing into his shoulder, and as he fell, he let go off the bottle. Pansy scores again. Or so she thought before she realized that her intricate plan had landed her on top of Harry Potter's chest, a place where she would rather not be. Yet, she could not help but notice how muscular his chest was under her. _Bad thoughts, Pansy, bad thoughts,_ Pansy thought. _Must stop this instant. Potter: ewey._

"Get off him, Parkinson," Ginny snarled, pulling her off.

"Aww, no need to be jealous, Easy Weasy," Pansy smirked, getting up. "I wouldn't touch your boyfriend if I had to pick between him and Volders-molders."

"Ew," Ginny made a face at Ron.

"I know, right? And you date it!" Pansy decided to misinterpret Ginny's reaction.

"Parkinson!" Harry interrupted them. "You broke the last bottle of Veritaserum. It's all gone!"

"Ooops." Oh, she was so _not_ sorry.

"You did that on purpose," Harry accused her, quite rightly.

"Did not."

"Yeah, you did. I saw you fall on him... that way."

"Are there multiple ways to fall on someone?" Pansy quirked an eyebrow. "Maybe next time I can fall on him in a different way. Or yet better, maybe he won't grab my arm next time and pull me onto him. Seriously, Potts, get some action already. Preferably from your girlfriend, and not me. Or like, a goat."

"Parkinson," Ginny and Harry growled in unison.

"Merlin, it was just a suggestion. But you both need to unwind... get laid... stuff like that."

"How are we going to question her without Veritaserum?" Harry turned around to look for Hermione who was not there.

"You could just take my word for it," Pansy suggested with a smile.

"Right," Ginny said sardonically. "When pigs fly."

"Actually..."

"I don't trust you, Parkinson," Harry took out his wand and pointed it at her. "But we need Veritaserum to question you. Until then, I will keep a close eye on you."

"Seriously, Potty-head, you need to relax a bit. I promise not to kill you in your sleep," Pansy kept her smile plastered on her face. Nope, killing him in his sleep was not part of the plan. Not at least from what she was told, anyway.

"Whatever, Parkinson. I am watching you," and with that, defeated Harry retreated. Ginny and Ron, needless to say, followed.

* * *

Pansy spent the rest of the day resting alone in her room. Other than the time when Mrs. Weasley came in to change her bandages and try some spells, she was left alone by the rest of the family. She did not object to this, she liked it. She needed some time to think. To go over what she was supposed to do here and how to do it the best.

Pansy leaned against the windowsill. She leaned her forehead against the glass as her thoughts kept pummeling forth. It felt like they would ran through her skull and penetrate her forehead. There were just so many things, and she barely remembered them all. That, and she was so damn tired. Her heard span, and she felt like she was about to faint. Feeling her forehead, she staggered towards the bed. She laid down in the hopes to assuage the pain and organize her thoughts.

Daffy must be rescued. Draco needs help escaping. Daddy is not gonna help. It was all on her. How long though? When? Something about a sword? Or wait, was it a veil? She was so confused. There was something she needed to remember, but she had no idea what it was. There were so many things going through her mind. Daffy was screaming in pain. Draco was watching, tears streaming from his eyes. But how did she see this? She was not there when Daffy was being hurt. The memory was gone as quickly as it came. The images were quickly replaced by other thoughts. They were coming faster and faster. Scrambled images of her past, things she hast long forgotten. Sword. Veil. Cup. Locket. Ring. Diary. Snake. Daisies. Clouds. Chains. Pansy passed out.

* * *

"Mum says the dinner is ready. You can come down if you want," someone called from behind her door, and Pansy sat up, startled.

She had a bizarre dream. She was talking to Snape, whom, of course, she knew very well as an intimate friend of her father's. They were talking about something related to Voldemort. She wasn't sure what it was. And then Snape used some spell on her father. Something powerful, because she could smell the magic. When she woke up, the smell was still with her, but most of the dream was forgotten.

"I'll be there in a minute," Pansy yelled at the door.

Swinging her legs off the bed, she got up and went to the mirror. She should at least look acceptable before she came down to meet the family, no? Well, her bringing up wouldn't let her do it any other way.

Looking in the mirror, she sighed. The black eye was going away, and there was a big scab on her cheek. Yup, that would definitely leave a scar. She sighed again. She could do nothing about her face, but she could do something about the outfit. There were quite a few things she could do to make this picture better had she had her wand. But her wand was lost, if not destroyed, and all she had was, well, nothing. She did her best to summon what she's heard of wandless magic. It was possible, or so she's heard. Some wizards and witches have even mastered it. She would give it a try. The spells she needed were very simple anyway, right?

* * *

"Bill, did you call her down?" Mrs. Weasley asked, sitting down at the table. The whole family, including Harry and Fleur, was gathered in the kitchen for the supper.

"Yeah, at least twenty minutes ago," Bill responded from Fleur's side.

"Well, did she say she would come down?"

"Yup."

Mrs. Weasley glowered a little, but then passed it off with a shrug. Maybe the girl changed her mind or something.

Pansy did not change her mind. In fact, her mind was pretty dead set on coming down for dinner. She had a tiny little problem though. Her dress was very...

"Pink." That was George's first reaction when he saw Pansy tumble down the stairs.

"Very, very fitting hot pink," Fred agreed with him instantly.

It was the truth. While mending Ginny's old shirt to fit her and making it into a dress, the piece of cloth went through certain changes, kind of like a teenage boy. But instead of turning into a bear (growing hair in weird places, broadening of shoulders, deepening of the voice) like human boys often do as they go through puberty, the dress's path to maturity was a little different. It turned into a bright pink piece of spandex, somehow. Pansy did not really have that many choices after that. She only had that one piece of cloth, and she did not want to dally any longer. She was on a mission, after all. So she went down wearing a hot pink spandex dress that did not only hug her in all the right places, but hugged her everywhere.

There was multitude of reactions at the table. Mrs. Weasley choked on her food. Harry sat agape. Ron's face matched his hair. Ginny's face matched the hair of a polar bear. Fleur punched Bill to get him to stop staring. Fred and George fixated their eyes at a certain part of Pansy that the dress exposed all too well. Mr. Weasley cleared his throat, not quite sure where to look.

"Oh, hello, dear," Mrs. Weasley recovered herself quickly enough to make room for her at the table. "Why don't you sit here and join us?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," Pansy smiled, and sat down between Ginny and George.

"George, Fred, stop staring," Mrs. Weasley reprimanded them. Fred and George mostly ignored her. "Pansy, dear, you got to excuse them. They do that sometimes. I think you know everyone here, right?"

"I think so," Pansy smiled again, and Mrs. Weasley sat down.

"What happened... how did you... where did that horrid pink thing come from?" Ginny finally forced out.

"I made it," Pansy told her, shrugging. Mrs. Weasley put a plate in front of her and the family, or at least the ones that were not busy staring at Pansy, resumed their meal.

"Huh?"

"I. Made. It."

"How?"

"You know, magic? It's pretty cool."

"You don't have a wand," Harry, who sat across from her, joined the conversation, though his eyes were hardly on her face.

"Ever heard of Wandless Magic, Potts?"

"Yeah, you can't do it."

"Doesn't mean I didn't try."

"Oh, wow," Fleur deigned to speak to them. "You did zat wizout a wand?"

"Yup," Pansy shrugged. "That was the problem, I think."

"You muzt be very good at sewing spellz then, no?"

"I am alright," Pansy shrugged again.

The dinner continued in a like manner. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged looks, but said nothing regarding Pansy's rather revealing outfit. Fleur spoke to her, though there was a hint of disdain in her voice; perhaps she thought the dress was somewhat distasteful. Bill did his best not to stare at either of the witches. It was difficult. Harry had to face the same problem, and Ginny's frowning face was not enough to save him. He kept kicking himself in his mind for staring, and once, he even tried to imagine Voldemort dressed in that instead of Pansy. It certainly calmed him down a bit, but he burst out laughing.

"Harry?" Ron asked carefully. "What's going on?"

"I-- haha-- uhh--" Harry attempted speech and failed.

"Harry? Are you okay?"

"Voldemort... spandex..." Harry forced out, continuing to laugh.

"Potts finally lost his marbles, didn't he?" Pansy whispered, watching Harry laugh like a maniac.

"Shut up, Parkinson," Ron glared at her. "Harry? What is it, Harry?"

Now everyone's attention was focused on him.

"Uhh... I--" Harry was very bad at this sort of situations. "I imagined Voldemort in what Pansy is wearing."

There was an astounded silence.

Then Pansy burst out laughing.

Then the Weasley twins followed. And so, in the end, the whole family imagined Voldemort wearing a pink, spandex dress. The Dark Lord, had he known about this, would not have been pleased. In fact, it's probably safe to say that he would be very displeased by such an image. Or maybe he would think it an interesting idea worth trying out. Maybe.

Harry, having turned a nice shade of scarlet, glared at Pansy. It _so _was her fault. If it hadn't been for her stupid, pink Spandex and her rather interesting girl-parts, this would not have been an issue. Everyone else was distracted by her, too. He even noticed Ron next to him watching her, and Ron has made his feelings towards the Slytherin very, very clear just few hours before. And then an idea struck Harry. Maybe that's why Pansy was there. To distract them. Distract and then maybe betray them. He glared at her some more, doing his best to glare at her face and not at some place below her face that was not her face.

He congratulated himself in his head. She wasn't a spy, but she was a distraction. Like when she jumped on him when he approached her with Veritaserum earlier. He was sure she did not just trip. People don't trip like that and land on him, spilling the last of a potion. Or press themselves against him in that fashion if they are not-- Harry's thoughts stopped in their tracks, looked around, pointedly avoiding each other's stares, and then backtracked from this dangerous territory. And thus he was able to continue on his previous track of thought. His spidey sense was tingling, and Harry just knew that Pansy Parkinson was up to something not good. He needed some answers out of her. He need more of the truth serum. Time to write to Hermy? Yessir.

Harry spent the remainder of the supper composing a letter to Hermione. Yeah, so maybe it took a month to brew that stupid potion, but Hermione was smart and really, really good at potions, no? Only if they had the Half-Blood Prince copy of-- Harry's thoughts paused again. Now they were scared. Thinking about the big HBP generally put Harry in a broody-anger mood, and that was no fun. Even his thoughts didn't like his mind in that state of mind. They generally just sorta left when he got like that, which would explain why he sounded so much less-intelligent when the was broody or angry. Anyways, Harry ended up brooding without his thoughts for the rest of the dinner. Not even the sight of Pansy's spandex was enough to cheer him up, though it did a lot for the rest of the male population at the table.

"So, Parkinson," Ron began half way through the dessert. "When are you gonna run back to Malfoy?"

Mr. Weasley glared at him and Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to sharply remind him about he should treat their guests, when Pansy interjected:

"Why, Ronald," she smiled sweetly. "The same time you will. When we all go to Hogwarts in the fall."

Ron gave her a dumbfounded look, and was about to respond with something that Mrs. Weasley would not approve of, when he was interrupted by Fred and George:

"Excellent!"

"Perhaps you can wear more spandex!"

"Lime green, maybe?"

"It would bring out your eyes."

"The blue-ness of them."

"Green works very well with blue--"

"I am glad you decided to stay, dear," Mrs. Weasley gave Pansy's hand a quick pat. "It's safer for you, children, this way."

Pansy smiled at her gratefully before flashing Ron a victorious grin. Of course she would stay, that was the whole point, but acting to eagerly in this situation could have been used against her later on. Or even now. Harry was watching her, she knew that because he told her so. Even besides that, the Order would watch her every step very carefully. She was no Draco Malfoy or anyone mildly important, but she was not on their side either. Pansy made sure she did not underestimate her enemies, though these people would not stay her "enemies" for long, as she's decided. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer? Yeah, that always made sense to Pansy, and she thought it rather fitting for her current situation.

"...but Mum, she should help, too!" Pansy's thoughts were interrupted by Ginny's whining. "She ate the supper, the least she can do is help us clean up."

"Ginevra Weasley," Mrs. Weasley said. "She is our guest. She is still very sick and tired, and besides, I doubt that she wants to ruin that dress."

Ginny sighed. These days, there was no arguing with her mother. She mostly assumed that Mrs. Weasley was tenser than a male blast-ended skewt during childbirth because of the up-coming wedding. Pansy's "popping-in" also did not really help to relieve the stress, if anything, it heightened it. Sort of like bringing lots of inflammable liquids to the blast-ended skewt nursery. Thus, Mrs. Weasley was a bit tense.

Pansy, having observed the exchange, excused herself and retired to her room. She tried to evaluate the dinner, but instead, she passed out on her bed again, almost as soon as she reached her room.

* * *

Pansy spent the next morning in the same fashion as she had spent the morning before, and slept through most of it. Then there was a sharp knock on the door, and Bill asked to come in. She was beginning to recognize the different voices of the Weasleys, and she thought it deserved a little clap. She indulged that thought.

"Don't you seem happy this morning," Bill commented with a smile.

"Yeah, I feel better," Pansy agreed, not really wanting to elaborate any further.

"Glad to hear that. Mum told me to call you down for breakfast. That is, if you want breakfast."

"Oh, right, sure," Pansy beamed at him. "I'll be down in a few."

"I'll tell her that," Bill turned to leave.

"Wait," Pansy called. "So, you are the one who found me, right?"

"Yeah," Bill turned around to face her.

"Was my wand there?"

Now, she really was not lying. She could not recall what happened to that very important piece of wood after the Volds decided to have a little chat with her.

"Strangely enough, it was strapped to your leg, if I am correct," Bill told her.

"Ugh, really? So, uh, can I have it?"

"It's broken."

"You broke it?" Pansy did her best to keep her cool. She was a witch. She needed her wand. Duh.

"No, no," Bill waved his hands as to dismiss the accusation. "It was broken already. The two pieces were hanging together by a thread. Now it's broken completely."

"Oh," Pansy turned away. This was rather depressing, she had to admit. She liked her wand. They were friends. It was like getting a haircut after you grew your hair the same way for ten years. A bizarre experience that left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. Also, a little phobic of scissors.

"No worries," Bill tried to comfort her. "I am sure you can get a new wand. Not yet, but before school starts. "

"Hm."

"Yeah," he tried to grin at her again. "I broke at least half a dozen wands when I was working in Egypt. When a mummy comes chargin' at ya, you want to stab it whatever you got. And let me tell you, mummy insides don't just wash off."

"I thought mummies had no insides," Pansy commented dryly.

"They don't. They are filled with some herbs. But when you stick your wand in a mummy, they herbs react with your wand, and dissolve it."

"Oh," Pansy acknowledged his words with a nod. "That's unfortunate."

"Yeah, well. I got over it. Broken wand is not the end of the world. My brother Ron, you know him, tried to tape his wand together."

"Yeah, I remember that. He is not very bright."

"He's alright," Bill shrugged. "But maybe I can get you the pieces of your wand if you promise not to tape them together." He grinned at her, and Pansy had to smile back.

"That'd be great," she agreed. "I would be--"

There, she was cut off by an inhuman shriek, coming from downstairs. Pansy idly wondered if she missed a memo about a Death Eater attack.

* * *

A/N: This is it for now, kids. And yes, in case you were wondering why my grammar is so bad and why there are skipped words and such, I do need a beta. I know. There will be an update within three weeks. I hope. But you know how life gets. To the people that reviewed, THANKS!!! Your reviews were highly appreciated :D No time to respond, but thanks anyway.


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